


Afternoon Off

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo Round 2 [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bingo, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky has one arm, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Gender Neutral, Gentle Kissing, M/M, Suggestive Themes, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26541943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: The reader comes home on an afternoon off to disrupt Bucky’s work and he isn’t complaining at all.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo Round 2 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919305
Kudos: 27





	Afternoon Off

“Bucky, what are all these?”

You perched your chin on the top of his head and draped your arms around his shoulders and neck, crossed your hands over his heart. It beat slowly, steadily, but you felt the slight increase as he leaned into you, a content hum escaping his lips as he covered your hands with his. A gentle rumble vibrated his chest when he muttered, “You’re home early, sugar.”

“You’re evading again.”

Pressing a kiss to his temple, you fell into his lap, legs hanging over the arm of the chair. Bucky wrapped his arm around you to keep you from slipping, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt as you wriggled about to make yourself comfortable. In an incredible show of strength, the kind which always made you grin, Bucky lifted you up with his one arm and dropped you back in the perfect place. Then he gently turned your head into his chest and held you for a long moment, savouring the peace you brought him.

Bucky smelled fresh, like sea water and mango, and a warmth filled your heart at the knowledge that he was taking care of himself when you weren’t around to pester him into doing it. He drew swirling patterns across your skin, utterly distracting but not quite enough to convince you to drop your questions.

You glanced up at him from the comfortable crook of his neck, traced your own fingers down the length of his freshly shaven jaw. The sharp stubble tickled was rough beneath your touch but absolutely worth it to tease out that rosy blush and watch it spread across Bucky’s cheek. You placed a kiss on his neck and said, “You’re still evading, my love. Talk to me, Buck. What’s going on in there today?”

He turned away when you tapped the side of his head, still not entirely willing to share the demons in his head. You understood, you truly did. You weren’t without your ghosts either. Usually, you gave Bucky all the time he needed to come to terms with the dark memories which haunted him, took a step back and waited until he was ready to tell you about them, but today you couldn’t help yourself.

Shifting in his lap, comfortable on his thick thigh, you glanced over the collage of newspaper clippings that currently covered every inch of your dining table. The clippings dated back decades, came from tabloids and broadsheets alike, collected from almost every country around the world. Some of the clippings were in colour, others black and white. Most were cut neatly from the papers but a few had been torn free, the edges rough and uneven, corners missing.

Each story focused on something different. Lots of death, some suicides, a few violent murders. A couple of bank jobs, millions stolen away from unconcerned billionaires who considered it little more than petty change. It took you a moment to realise exactly what linked the apparently unrelated events.

The revelation left a pang of sadness in your chest and you felt foolish for not connecting the dots faster. “Bucky… You shouldn’t do this to yourself. What you did in HYRDA’s name -”

“These weren’t me.”

“Are you sure?”

His lips twitched in amusement, eyes soft and bright as the rising morning sun. Nuzzling against your neck, Bucky breathed in your perfume and hummed at the familiar smell. It was everywhere in your shared apartment, on your pillows, on his clothes, a constant reminder of you when you weren’t around. While he often protested otherwise, you knew that Bucky loved that you’d claimed the space, claimed his heart, as your own.

Snaking his arm around you, Bucky shifted a few of the clippings around on the tabletop to group them in ways you didn’t entirely understand. “Pretty sure. Overdoses and faked natural causes weren’t his – they weren’t my style. I was efficient but never this clean.”

“What’s all this for, Buck? You’re meant to be on leave, relaxing.”

“This _is_ how I relax, you know that.”

“I know,” you sighed. “But I was hoping you’d at least mow the lawn first.”

Bucky frowned. “I did mow the lawn.” He glanced out the window and groaned, unable to refute the evidence. “Oh. I guess I just thought about it. ‘m sorry, sugar.”

“It’s alright, love. It’s really not important. We’ll get Sam to do it when he comes round tomorrow.” That made him smile, just as you knew it would. You stared a random collection of clippings for a few minutes as your partner returned to his own study before finally admitting defeat. “Nope. You’ve beaten me here, Buck. What’s the link?”

His smugness was well hidden but you felt it, boy did you feel it. It had taken years but he’d finally managed to make a link that you had missed. “Okay, so take this pile: the pills he used to supposedly kill himself came from the same company that paid for her medical bills and that this guy worked for. And this pile are connected by a fraudulent church. Two of the dead volunteered at a foodbank funded by the church and this lady’s wife worked as an accountant for the head.”

“Impressive. But why is any of that important?”

“It’s not, really. Still, it’s a place to start.” Bucky pushed all the clippings into one big pile, barely hiding the obsessive panic that came from mixing up the careful organisation, and shoved them to the back of the table. “Not now, though.”

“No?”

Bucky shook his head, a rare, cheeky, charming grin on his face. “No.”

Without warning, he rose to his feet and you squealed, twisting quickly to wrap your legs around his waist and cling to safety. Laughing as he hitched you up with his arm, he flung you round onto his back and carried you up to the bedroom.

He dropped you onto the bed and started to strip, oozing a confidence that was reserved specifically for you and moments like this. Propped up on your elbow, you asked, “So murder and conspiracies get you all worked up, do they?”

First off came his shirt, then trousers before Bucky crawled up the bed towards you. He laid down on his back and grinned as you climbed into his lap. His fingers curled around your hips, slipped round your back and then crawled slowly up your spine, guiding you down into a languid kiss.

Bucky kissed you softly as if he had all the time in the world to lose himself in your touch and didn’t once wince as you spread your hand over his chest, tracing the scars that made him so unique. He shared his love with every brush of his lips against yours, planting a long trail of kisses down your jaw and down your neck.

Just as Bucky began to pull your jumper over your head, the phone on the bedside table began to vibrate. You groaned against his chest, only getting louder when they tried for a second go. Rolling off of Bucky, you flicked the notification away but knew the U.N. wouldn’t let you enjoy your afternoon off.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“I know.” He forced a smile onto his face but you could see the disappointment in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

He kissed the top of your head, shh-ing the rest of your protests. “We knew what we signed up for. Be sensible. Be safe. Be amazing.”

“I am always at least one of those things.”

“Just come home to me, okay?”

You slipped on your shoes and headed for the door, lingering on the threshold, committing the view to memory. You knew you’d come back, you always did, but the very small part of your brain that always considered the worst wanted to savour this if it were to be your final moment. “Love you, soldier.”

“Love you too, sugar. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

“I’m counting on it.”


End file.
